


Here by My Side

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon, Drama, Episode Related, M/M, Points of View, Romance, Season/Series 03, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-14
Updated: 2007-05-14
Packaged: 2018-12-27 01:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12071319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: When the thing you desire most is within reach, you don't let it slip away...





	Here by My Side

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: Sequel to _The Beginning of the End_. Set at the end of 3.04. Title inspired by Matthew Good's lovely song _Weapon_. Having said that, this is still no songfic.  


* * *

I never realised there was so much fucking bullshit on TV – endless soaps, stupid talk and reality shows seem to be the _hit_ currently, and if you're searching for a classic movie – "Brian, those were made before even _you_ were born..." – you search forever. So whoever has come to distract me is more than welcome here. Even if it's Mikey with more brilliant ideas on how I can get Justin back. Okay, so last night he really had an epiphany of sorts – "Why don't you go and enlist Daphne?" – but that was pure goddamn luck. Can't expect him to come up with something else so soon after that bit of brilliance. Cause Daphne ... that might just work. I mean, she always loved me, and I don't think she's too keen on the fiddler, so...

Or maybe it's Linz and my Sonny Boy. She fucking owes me an explanation. First it was all, "Oh, we want you to father the child", but once I'd agreed to do it – nada. Maybe Mel got cold feet – well, she _probably_ did – but they should tell me this shit, for fuck's sake. 'What? So you'd lose your excuse for not tricking?' Fuck it! So I don't feel like fucking the shit out of anyone who... 'Who's not Justin...' Beam! I need a fucking glass of Beam. Right after I see who's come over, that is. Shit, maybe it's the fucking cops again – this time to arrest me... That'd be totally fucked...

But it isn't anyone who's come to take me to another questioning or worse. And it's certainly not Mikey or Linz... It's... "Justin..." He stares at me for a second, then drops his gaze, looking anywhere but at me. 'At least he doesn't run away this time... But what in God's name does he want, huh?' How the fuck am I supposed to know? He's fidgeting, and I step away from him, leaning against the doorframe. Now, if he wants to come in...

"I..." He bites his lower lip and I have to force myself to stay where I am, because those lips... 'Beckon to you?' Fuck, yes! "I have..." Now he's searching for something in his pocket, "I believe this is yours." Shit! It's my cowry-shell bracelet. I hadn't even noticed it'd gone missing... 'Cause it didn't work for you anymore, did it? Lucky charm, my ass...' But where the fuck did Justin get it? He must read the question in my eyes, because he explains, "Your stupid fucking nephew had it. And I knew... He admitted the truth, Brian. In front of Deb and Carl. There won't be any charges..."

Shit! He fucking saved me. No one would have believed the evil faggot uncle, oh no. Poor little John, abused by someone he should be able to trust. It could have ... it could have ended fucking bad, I know that. But still all I manage to say to him is a stupid "Thanks". I should tell him... 'How much it means to you that he, of all people, helped you out? How fucking grateful you are to him? How much you miss him? That you want him to come back?' Whoa, not so fast... One step at a time. 'Well, then at least let him see... Before, you never really did that, you prick. No wonder that he didn't know... That he left you... You have to do it, Kinney. Else he'll be gone again in a flash.' I'm trying to. But it's hard, it's so fucking hard, especially with Justin. Because last time I opened up... 'He shredded you? Well, tough shit! That's called life, Kinney. The question is, do you want painless and dull – or do you want a life with _him_?' And there's only one answer to that...

So I take a deep breath, and look straight into his eyes, forcing down all of those stupid walls I normally carry around with me. For a moment, he seems startled, but then... Oh fuck! The longing in his eyes, the need ... and the shame. The hurt. Shit. Of all the stupid fucking losers in the world... I really must be their king. Or maybe we share that particular title. We can still right this wrong, though. It's not too late... 'It never will be, Kinney. Remember? _It's not goodbye_...'

We stand there for hours, or maybe just a few minutes, and then he smiles almost shyly. And reaches for my right hand. "Here ... let me..." Fuck! He's touching me and expects me to remain passive? To not pull him close and never to let go again? 'Maybe he's waiting for some snide remark? Something like, "Don't you have to go back to your boyfriend?". But if he's expecting that, he's in for a long wait, right?' The bracelet's back where it belongs now – 'And so is he...' – but he still holds my hand. And slowly – we hardly even realise – our fingers slide together, and then our hands are linked, and there's no way that I draw back this time. 'Not so different from last time...' Only ... Justin doesn't make any move to leave, either. He just stands there and stares at our hands.

And he follows as I move back into the loft, doesn't even jump when the door closes with the normal racket. He simply looks up at me, questioningly. "Justin..." I say – yeah, I know, I'm _very eloquent_ right now. He sighs deeply, then leans forward, his forehead resting against my chest. That mop of hair calling to me ... and while my right hand's still clinging to his, my left burrows into that blond softness, stroking his scalp, the warm skin of his neck... And all the while my brain is trying to process what's going on. That Justin's here – Justin, and not some hustler dressed up to look like him. That it doesn't look like he's going to bolt again any time soon. That I don't have to make any more fucking plans... At least that's what I'm hoping. 'You mean you're fucking _praying_ to God – who you don't believe in, by the way – that he's going to stay. That you won't have to fight for him, because every day you spend apart is fucking torture...'

For a while, neither of us makes a move to take this any further. We're simply revelling in the feeling of being together, being this close again. With anyone else, this would be fucking pathetic, but with Justin... Shit, this really _is_ Justin. It's Justin who's lifting his head now, and I'm drowning in Justin's eyes, and... 'And you didn't think you'd ever have this again, did you? But you craved it, enough to make dumb-assed plans to get him back. Looks like he beat you to it...' And I'm glad – no, I'm fucking elated... Justin's here, and that's a message this crippled thing that's... ' _You!_ You're nothing more than a cripple without him, missing the most essential parts of your being – and no, I'm not referring to your cock...' Well, yeah... It's a message _I_ obviously interpret as the second coming of fuck-knows-what, not to mention what my dick makes of it all...

But that's secondary – for once – to this feeling of wholeness, of not being so fucking empty and ... and cold anymore. Suddenly, Justin withdraws his hand, and for a moment he looks like he might make a run for it – and I don't think I've ever been more scared of anything – but then he cups my face, drawing my head down, initiating a kiss we both wanted – no, _needed_ – since the night we discussed his poster for the Carnivale. He gasps like he did then, and I slide my tongue into his welcoming mouth, searching and finding it's mate, and I feel like – God, this sounds so fucking corny, but I know it's true nonetheless – I feeling like I'm coming home at long last.

His jacket drops to the floor, and he smiles against my lips just before he really tries to climb into my mouth. 'That would be one point for you, Kinney. The fiddler apparently doesn't have a clue what a real kiss should be like. Or else Justin wouldn't be this eager...' No shit. It looks like Justin's been dying for this, and fuck, the same is true for me. And for once, I don't mask it. I let him see – and more importantly – _feel_ my need, my desire... Desire that has little to do with my cock and everything with... 'Your _heart_ , you fucking idiot! You need him this much because you love him!' I do. Okay?! I do! And while I'm still unable to simply tell him, I'll show him. I'll show him by worshipping him with my lips, my hands, my entire body. And I can only hope that he'll hear me this time. That he'll listen...

He breaks away suddenly, panting. His eyes are dark, sparkling, and his lips are swollen ... just like something further down his body... I smirk, and he's blushing like I knew he would. Shit. He's fucking made for this, but even after two years and thousands of fucks, he's still blushing. It's fucking... 'Endearing? Just like his inane babbling about diarrhea and vomiting was...' Yeah, I guess I was pretty much screwed that first night already, I just took my sweet time catching up and accepting the inevitable.

He casts his eyes down, clearly embarrassed now, but before he can call the whole thing off, I'm leaning in again – to steal his breath, to ground him, to let him know that it's okay – more than okay. Leaving his lips, I kiss a path to his ear, and I breathe, "Justin..." in that husky way that always reduces him to incoherent moans and whimpers. Then I simply have to taste his soft skin, but encounter... Stupid turtlenecks. Since when is he wearing them, anyway? I mean, it's really not _that_ cold outside, so... Trying to hide a hickey? Well, if that's the case, I'll know in a little while. I slide my hands down his body – somehow they'd ended up at the back of his head ... and I really can't remember how that happened.

He's sighing again as I take a step backwards, my fingers hooked under the hem of his sweater. And then it comes off, and I swear the cheap material makes his hair stand on end for a second or two. At any other time, I'd tease him about it, would ask if _little Jussie put his fingers into a plug_ or something like that, but I had to go far too long without him, and my brain's busy sending out messages – no, _orders_. Orders to touch, and taste, and kiss... So I draw him back into my arms, and lick my way from his collarbone up to that special spot right beneath his left ear and latch onto his neck like a vampire. Marking him. Claiming him. Because he's _mine_ , and he'll always be. 'Yeah, just like you are _his_. You don't function correctly, Kinney, without him by your side.' He groans, and finally – _finally_ – remembers who he really is. Who we are – together. And that we don't need stupid fucking words to communicate. For us, they are an optional extra.

He pushes me back towards the bedroom, and suddenly my wife beater joins his sweater on the floor, and he's on his knees, his fingers undoing my fly, my cock surging into his hand, and then his mouth, and it's fucking embarrassing, but I'm coming the moment he looks up at me, so needy and so ... so _loving_ at the same time. No trick and no fucking hustler could ever reduce me to this. Only Justin... Justin, who's now licking me clean, and who gets to his feet again with this huge smile on his face. Yeah, cause my dick's hardening once more – another thing only he manages... And if I'm ready to go again, he must be close to bursting. Well, we can't have that since I've got plans for him. For _us_. Shit. That thought makes me feel all warm and fuzzy... 'That's called _happiness_. You're fucking happy.' Who'd have thought this would feel so good?

I know I used to think happiness was just for dykes and straight people, and dickless fags... Looks like I was mistaken. 'Like you were about the whole _I don't believe in love_ BS!' Yeah, well ... what can I say? I was terminally stupid. And then, one night... That night changed my whole goddamn life. 'You mean _he_ changed your life...' Semantics. Mere semantics. 'Yeah, sure... But you know something, Kinney? He's about to do it again.' And this time I'm not afraid. This time I won't fight him like I did before. This time I'll just lean back and allow myself to be ... _happy_. With him.

He comes into my arms then, and I let myself smile at him. Soaking up the feeling of having him here, of being with him. And I know that he always made me feel like this. He wasn't like all those nameless tricks, who were only interested in my body – and of course in getting it from _God-stud Kinney_ so they could brag about it in front of their friends. For him it was always about being with _me_. Not with the _King of Liberty_ , the best fuck this sad town has ever seen. _Me!_ Brian A. Kinney. Brian... The last time anyone ever wanted that was ... ages ago. And it fucking scared the shit out of me. 'Because you wanted it, didn't you? But you were so fucking terrified of getting hurt again...' I pushed him away, but never too far. He was always within reach. And shit, I did that while he was living here as well. That was what our _date nights_ were all about. And the tricks. The tricks I simply had to parade in front of him.

'Well, since you know that now, you won't be doing it again, will you?' Fuck! I'm not sure if I can just stop, and what if he ... what if he won't understand that it's just me fucking up royally again? What if... 'You want this, don't you? You want him in your arms, in your life ... in your bed... Then go for it. Hold on to it, and let him see ... let him know...' That's what I'm trying to do here, okay? If I held him any tighter, I might fucking suffocate him. But I'm not sure I could let go. He might run again, run away from me... And now that I had a taste... For now, though, all I want to do is stand here with him. Until _something_ juts into my thigh, that is, reminding me that while he took the edge off for me, he's still tethering on it, waiting for a tiny little push so he can fall as well. Knowing that I'll be there to catch him.

So I draw him with me, up the steps, until he's standing next to the bed. I reach for him, undo his pants while he toes off his sneakers and socks, and then we're lying side by side, kissing every piece of skin we encounter. And then I'm between his legs, smirking down at his cock that seems to be straining to get closer to me. Or more accurately, to my mouth. Before he came along, blowjobs were few and far in-between, blowjobs _given_ by me, that is. But with Justin... I simply couldn't get enough of him. 'Think you ever will?' No, not really. He's ... more than enough for me, gives me everything I could ever want – even though I didn't know it when he came along. Part of it is his unique taste – salt and sweetness mixed into that special _Justin-flavour_ that is better than the most expensive Scotch Whisky... And then there are the sounds he's making when I'm going down on him. Little moans and sighs, and my name tumbling off his lips like a fucking prayer.

"Brian..." Yup, case in point. His eyes are closed, but he's slowly opening them, gazing at me as I lick the length of his dick before I swallow him whole. That's always the point when the moaning starts. Then I swallow around him, and voila – his fingers tangle in my hair. Why the fuck did it take me almost thirty-one years to realise that ... that it's anything but boring to be with the same guy over and over again... 'Provided it's Justin, right?' You know all the sensitive spots of your partner, know just what to do to give him the most pleasure – you _want_ to give him as much pleasure as possible! That's the big fucking difference.

Before Justin – hell, I really only ever believed in fucking. In and out with the maximum of pleasure – and I mean my own pleasure here. I never gave a shit about my current _trick de jour_. But with Justin ... it was different right from the beginning. And I knew it. Why do you think I tried to push him away one moment, only to pull him back the next? I wanted more of this ... of this feeling that only he ever evoked. Fuck! In a way, I was playing right into his hands that night when he showed up at Babylon. After that, it was a done deal. Only I wasn't willing to see that. Until recently. Or not so recently... The bashing... No, I'd realised it before all that shit happened, never mind what Linz and Deb think. I mean, seriously, if I hadn't known, I wouldn't have gone to his fucking high school prom. He is... 'The _one_ for you. And it's about time you come to terms with that. Cause it's not going to change. Ever. And you know it. And what's more important, you don't want it to change. Otherwise you wouldn't dare to hope...'

He's now reached the keening-stage, effectively breaking me out of my musings, bringing me back to the here and now. He's close, can already _see_ the peak, and he's reaching for it, wanting nothing more than to let himself fall – cause he knows I'll be there to catch him. All he needs is a tiny push. Well, I'm only too happy to give him that. My right hand – which had been stroking his stomach – is now moving over his chest, with only a short detour to pinch his nipples, to his full and inviting lips. And they part almost as soon as my fingers touch them, sucking them just like I'm...

Oh shit! It's just my fingers, for fuck's sake. Not my cock. I'm moaning around my mouthful, and he chuckles. Little shit! And just before he continues to coat my fingers in saliva, our eyes meet. And that look of pure, unadulterated lust – mixed with some deeper emotions – that's something that pathetic fool _Ian_ surely has never seen. 'And how could he? Do you seriously believe Justin actually _loves_ the fiddler?' I don't. I feared it, yes. But now... There's just no way.

He's finally releasing my fingers, and – as if anticipating my next move – he's closing his eyes. Working his dick at an excruciatingly slow pace, I'm running my fingers over the puckered skin around his hole before delving inside. He's moaning continuously now, and you don't have to be a genius to know just what he's waiting for. Normally, I'd let him wait, would torture him for a few minutes more before giving in. But my cock is rock-hard again, and more than ready for round two, so the next lesson in patience has to be postponed for the time being. I'm swallowing around him just when I rake my fingers over his prostate. He tenses up, going into sensory overload, and moments later my mouth is filled with the salty sweetness of his come, and I'm drinking him down like someone dying with thirst would drink down water.

Who'd have thought that I'd miss this so fucking much? 'Oh, I did. You miss everything about him. But maybe that's in the past now. Maybe he'll come back. This isn't just a one-night-stand, is it?' Shit. Nothing with Justin could be that. And where I once thought it was only fucking, I'm now... I was always right there with him, making sure he got as much pleasure out of our encounters as I did. Right from the start – when he came all over my new duvet. All that stuff about "What do you like to do?" – that wasn't normal behaviour. And I still can't say what made him so special, what made me go for him in the first place. After all, he's pretty much the opposite of what I'd go for usually. 'Maybe it was something terribly sappy like ... you sensed your other half in him?'

Shut. The. Fuck. Up! I'm not a stupid fucking lesbian or a wannabe breeder! He was hot. And innocent. Begging to be corrupted. That's all. 'Yeah, and you did. Thoroughly. You did so well that he lost his belief in...' Shut up! He will know! Okay?! Before the night is over, he _will_ know. Just because I can't say the words doesn't mean ... that I don't care, that I don't love him.

"Brian..." God. Only he can save me from that insistent voice simply by whispering my name. Only he can help me fend off the demons that haunt me, that fucking shadow of my _glorious_ past. "Brian... Please..." My fingers are still embedded in his ass, and I'm now realising that he's rocking against me, his cock hardening once more. Blindly, he's reaching for the bedside table and the lube and condoms I keep there. Not that I used them too often lately... And he whimpers when I withdraw my fingers to coat them, but groans when they return to stretch him, to prepare him. 'You can hardly believe this is really happening, can you?' But this is real. This _is_ Justin beneath me, and it's Justin who rolls the condom over my dick. He's about to roll onto his stomach, but I hold him back.

"Face to face, Justin. No more running away. No more hiding." Shit! What did I say now? His eyes are swimming, but he nods emphatically. And then his smile lights up the whole loft, and I think I need shades. 'You did that for him, Kinney. He's finally listening. He heard you.' Fuck, I hope so. Because I don't know what else I can say to make him understand that things are different now. What was that stupid saying? Distance makes the heart – and cock – grow fonder? Well, I think that's true, even if it's somewhat _Hallmarkish_. But then, he always managed to reduce me to this, or maybe he simply gave me the strength to embrace at least this much of my feelings. And turn me into a fucking dyke while he was at it...

For a moment, all I want to do is gaze at him, his blond hair practically shining against the greyish-blue sheets, surrounding his face like a halo. And his eyes – now stormy-dark with arousal... They were always able to look past my walls and defence mechanisms, making me feel more exposed than I ever felt before. Until he fucking lost that, and I had no idea how to deal with it. That was also when he started to give me _that_ look – completely dejected and so fucking miserable... But now they're sparkling again, and I know he's ... he's happy to be here with me – despite the sheen of tears that's still clouding his eyes.

Shit. I can't even remember when he last looked at me like that. 'The Prom... Down there, in the garage, when it was just the two of you. When he told you that it had been the best night of his life – because you'd been there. Because you'd showed him...' Before my whole fucking world was shattered into a million pieces... Before his innocence was ripped away from him, and his firm belief in ... in _us_. His conviction that _we_ are two fucking halves of... Fuck it! Whatever he thought back then, he'd lost it, and while we were living together... The stupid _zucchini man_ – that should have told him how much he meant to me, but the only thing it drove home was ... the complete opposite. And that sparkle, which was about to be rekindled ... it went out for good. Until now... And that's nothing to do with _Ian_. Fuckers like him wouldn't understand any of this. 'Nope, it takes a fucker like yourself, doesn't it?' Well, yeah! 'So ... you're _on to_ him, aren't you?' Fuck! I feel dykehood looming, and I don't run for cover. Instead I just... 'Bask? Well, I'm sure the losers at the GLC are already polishing your _Dyke of the Year_ award...'

And just when that stupid little voice is about to go down this totally fucked-up route, I'm once again saved by him. He moans my name, and all thought of _basking_ goes out of the window, and I swear my cock is wondering if we couldn't get on with it now. And the moment I push into him, and his legs are wrapped around my hips ... I know then that no trick will ever get close to this. So why the fuck do I even bother? Why hurt Justin and his romantic little heart time and again just because of my stupid fucking pride? Why fight for my right to fuck around if it doesn't really do anything for me anymore – if ever? Besides, I never go for second best, so...

He's fisting his cock, but I slap his hand away. His dick's _mine_ , just like the rest of him. And while I'm claiming him physically, he's doing the same by whispering my name over and over – like a fucking mantra. And for some reason that's even more of a turn-on for me, and I'm speeding up my thrusts, knowing that it won't be much longer – for either of us. But there's time for something slow and gentle later. _Later._ That knowledge does it for me, and I'm jerking once, twice, my come filling the condom, and he's right there with me... 'Like always. Like you're meant to be.' I slump down on top of him, catching my breath... 'Breathing in the scent of the two of you ... together.' Oh, shut up! Of course I've to pull out sooner than he would like, but when I draw him close again, and he fucking snuggles up to me, it's all... 'As it should be.' And for once, the voice is right. Yeah, this is how it should be.

Right about there, I drift off... But when I wake around an hour later and turn to his side of the bed, all I find is cold sheets...

 

FIN.


End file.
